


Day 13: Heat Stroke

by MadhouseVagabond



Series: 30 Day Whump Challenge 2018 [13]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 30 Day Whump Challenge, Angst, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Heat Stroke, Interrogation, Pain, Torture, Vagabond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadhouseVagabond/pseuds/MadhouseVagabond
Summary: A rival crew has captured a member of the Fakes, and are using a new method of torture to squeeze information out of him.





	Day 13: Heat Stroke

Heat. All there was was heat. That and the raging headache. The prisoner knelt on the hard stone floor, his arms stretched painfully out to the sides of his body by the chains bolted to the floor, his head hung limp. He’d been stripped down to just his underwear, every inch of his skin sweating excessively from the heat lamps in the room set to their highest setting, slamming relentless waves of heat into his body. It had been this way for over a day, no water provided to sooth his parched throat and cracking lips. The people who’d taken him, a rival gang he was sure, possibly the Balas or the Adders, had been trying to learn as much about him as possible, him and his crew. Though he was still relatively new to the crew and didn’t know much, he refused to give any information up. He’d been beaten, cut, and now tortured. The heat pounded into him and at first he didn’t mind it, seeing as how they lived practically in a desert. But over time, the relentless heat increased in temperature and never cooled. There was no relief, and the headache he soon felt pounding away at his skull didn’t help. He knew he was in a bad shape, sweating out more fluids than he’d taken in, terribly dehydrated, the headache a sign that heatstroke was on its way.

 

The metal shackles binding his wrists and ankles burned his skin from the heat, the temperature feeling worse in the small room, like being in an oven or sauna with no moisture. He felt his heart racing, overloading with the stress of trying to keep his body cool and he’d noticed his skin begin to flush. He felt faint but fought against the screams of his body, determined to stay awake, to not give them the satisfaction. He wouldn’t let them win.

 

The door opened briefly and he felt a small amount of hope that a breeze would rush in, if only a fleeting moment of relief from the intense heat. But no relief came as he heard footsteps approaching, a pair of booted feet coming into view. He didn’t look up, refused to acknowledge their presence. His interrogator chuckled darkly and grabbed his face, forcing him to look up. He glared at the man staring back at him, defiance and hatred all he felt.

 

“You’re a stubborn man, but every man has his limits. You’ll crack soon enough, I can see it in your eyes,” the man said. The prisoner continued to glare and somehow managed to spit what little saliva he had left into the man’s face, smiling a little at how satisfying it was to see the man reel back and sputter as he wiped at his face.

 

“Cute, but keep this in mind, you’re all alone here. There’s no one coming to save you, no one cares enough about you to put forth the effort. You’re stuck here with me big boy so you’d better just give me what I want. Why bother with all this pain and torment for some assholes who you’ve just met? Who don’t even care about you,” the man snarled as he slapped the prisoner across the face. The captive remained silent, just staring up at the man who’d been the source of his torment.

 

“Always the silent type. What does the mighty Vagabond even have to gain from that no good, ragtag bunch of misfits?” the man asked again, this time genuinely curious.

 

The Vagabond started blankly at him before hanging his head, closing his eyes tight to ward off the headache. He was beginning to feel nauseous and knew he was in trouble if he didn’t get medical attention soon. His captor left and soon Vagabond was alone again. He refused to betray his crew, even if he’d just met them. They’d proven themselves over and over again in his observations of them over the last few years that they trusted each other and were loyal to a fault. If dying here meant not betraying that trust, then so be it. He wasn’t about to put them in danger for personal comfort. The headache and nausea grew worse and he grit his teeth, breathing becoming shallow and quick. He knew he was a goner, knew that if they had the means to find him they’d have done so by now. It didn’t matter, they were safe and that was what was truly important. At least to him.

 

Taking a deep breath, Vagabond leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, defiance on his face as he challenged death to try and take him. He’d fight till the end, as long as there was strength left in him.

 

“I’m sorry I never got to tell you my name, how much you mean to me, how much it meant that you gave me something no one else ever did,” he said so softly anyone standing next to him wouldn’t had to strain to hear. A small mile played at his lips as the faces of each crewmember entered his vision. He closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“A family,” he finished his thought.

 

The last few hours he’d been having small amounts of delirium, another sign that he was in a bad way, and had heard the voices of his friends. Yes, yes they were his friends. Not just a crew, friends that had slowly become family over the short period of time they’d known each other. He’d heard their voices and wondered if they were real. Wondered if the sounds of gunfire were real, or if the sound of the door opening and running footsteps were real as he drifted into unconsciousness, the heat no longer bothering him.


End file.
